"Our fake wedding, this Saturday," said Juliet, frowning as she latched onto the plan.
Rob stroked a hand across his chin, and worry lines marred his forehead and eyes. "Just how do you think she'll do that?"
"I don't know, but I can bet you she will either be on your invite list, or do anything she can to get invited. She'll attend and do everything she can to split you two up for good."
"How can you be so sure?" asked Juliet.
"Because it's pretty hard to split up two people who've been through hell, are expecting a baby, and tying the knot. That's a couple who are never going to split up," I told them.
"Honey?" Rob said, reaching for Juliet's hand.
She grasped it in hers, the pair of them holding hands right next to Juliet's queen on the chessboard. "It's the ultimate chess move, right?" she said. "The ultimate bluff?"
"The ultimate bluff," I repeated, agreeing with her. "You need to put on a good show."
"Tell us what to do," she said, her eyes never leaving Rob's face. Whether she spoke to him or me was immaterial; what mattered now was the fight I glimpsed in her eyes. "Let's end this by beating her at her own game, and playing much better than she ever could."
~
By the time I left them in the house, we'd already unpacked a large number of the boxes. We arranged all the chairs, after decorating them in chiffon ribbons and pretty silk flowers, by the French doors, ready to put into rows in the garden. In the guest bedroom, far from the mangled remains of the bathroom door of her bedroom, Juliet tried on several of the dresses she could barely stand to look at before. She had to admit some were even to her taste. We accessorized from a selection of the many hair clips, bracelets and necklaces that also arrived, and tried on several shoes and veils. If she weren't my client, I would have to admit having a lot of fun with a good friend. Finally, on my way out, Rob pulled me gently to one side. He suggested I remove the veil, and thanked me for making Juliet laugh, at last. I thought leaving her confident and determined was the least I could do, after all the fear she already had to endure.
Caught in a long stretch of traffic snaking through Century Street, I was already running late by the time I reached my pretty, yellow bungalow. Solomon's SUV was nowhere in sight, and crucially, neither was my parents' car. I got out of my VW, jogging towards the house, and jumping over a sleeping Barney on my porch, before dashing inside to set the oven to preheat.
Ingredients covered the surfaces as I emptied the refrigerator and set about chopping vegetables. I took out the bowls and filled them with a variety of chips and dips I purchased. When a pair of arms circled my arms and crossed over my chest, I could barely conceal a squeal. "Jeez, John! I nearly stabbed you with my knife. I could have killed you!" I protested, dropping the knife onto the wooden board.
"With a paring knife? Why are you using that for slicing?"
"I can't find a better one."
"Like this one?" he asked, sliding a chopping knife from under a pile of carrots. "What are you doing?"
"Making carrot sticks. Healthy and nutritious and organic. It says so on the bag."
"Are we only eating carrot sticks for dinner?"
"No! I have several cuts of meat and potatoes and vegetables. And Garrett's bringing cake. Ohmygosh! Garrett is not bringing cake! Sam has chicken pox so they're staying at home. What do I do about dessert? Hand me the flour."
"No."
"It's right there!" I pointed to the shelf.
Solomon pointed to the clock. "Your guests are due in twenty minutes."
"No!" I glanced to the clock, blanching.
"Yes."
"How did that happen?"
"I could explain time, but I'm sure you learned clock-reading in kindergarten."
"Ha-ha. What do I do? The beef won't cook in twenty minutes! And the roasted potatoes take forty minutes at least. I'm screwed! I'll never live this down. I'll be the Graves failure all over again!" I squealed.
"They'll forget."
"They're Irish stock and this is food. They will never, never, John, never forget!"
"I can fix this."
I surveyed the kitchen. Not only was it a huge mess, but also a terribly unproductive mess. It would take twenty minutes at a minimum to clean it; and I still wouldn't have enough to feed my expectant and ravenous family. "I'm a failure."
"You're not a failure."
"Yes, I am," I wailed. "I wanted such good results. I wanted to make an effort and feed everyone, without anyone going hungry or dying of food poisoning."
"You must go to some strange dinner parties if that's your description of a good result."
The mess in the kitchen didn't spell good result to me and I looked around, swallowing hard. There was no way to fix this. Solomon was being way too calm while my heart thumped loudly in despair. On the plus side, I had enough carrot sticks and hummus to feed a small army.
"Go upstairs, and take a shower and get changed," Solomon instructed, taking me by the shoulders and guiding me out of the kitchen. "I'll fix this."
"It's hopeless. There's a takeout menu on the fridge. If we order now, we can put things into serving dishes and hide the evidence before anyone gets here."
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that."
"But..."
"Shower, now."
I made a funny grunting noise, but conceded defeat before stomping up the stairs with all the grace of a depressed sloth. Closing the door to my bedroom, I tossed my day's clothes in the hamper and laid out clean pants and a blouse. Midway through my shower, wafts of something delicious alerted my senses. It wasn't my shower gel. I dried and arranged my hair into a sleek ponytail, and attended to my wound, before getting dressed. Slipping my feet into flats, the mouth-watering aromas continued to make my stomach rumble.
Solomon was carrying dishes to my small dining table by the time I arrived downstairs. A stack of plates, interwoven with napkins, lay on the table, and another dish held the flatware. A vase filled with pretty, fresh flowers served as the centerpiece amidst several hot dishes. "How could this happen?" I asked, breathlessly in wonder.
"It's easy when you know how."
I pointed to the vase. "Where did the flowers come from?"
"Your garden."
"And all this food?"
"You bought it. I just prepared it."
"But it looks like a dinner party!"
Solomon laughed. "That's the idea. Easy fork buffet."
"You're perfect. Too perfect, John. You're unreal. And you saved the day."
"Not exactly the first time," said Solomon as the doorbell rang.
"I will never forget this," I told him, kissing his cheek before I crossed the hallway to open the door. My parents stood on the porch and my mother looked appalled. "We should never have left you to your own surveillance! You got shot again!" she admonished me before reaching out and pulling me against her in a rib-crushing hug. My side winced.
"Barely," I muttered, through gritted teeth.
"Did you shoot back?" asked my father, holding a digital tablet and a large bag in one hand, and a bottle of wine in the other.
"No."
"Is it true the shooter used your own weapon on you?" he continued.
"Kind of."
Dad tutted. "What were you thinking, Lexi?"
"Alexandra wasn't thinking, were you, Alexandra?" My mother shook her head as she relieved Dad of the bag he carried and thrust it into my hand. "We brought you a vest, dear, and it's not for keeping warm. It's made of Kevlar."
I peeped into the bag and grinned. "Thanks!"
"Don't look so happy. It's to discourage you from getting shot again, not to encourage you." Mom steamed past and cuffed Solomon on the head.
"Ow!" he said, ducking too late. "What was that for?"
"For letting my daughter got shot."
"I wasn't there."
"Exactly! When are you going to give Lexi her job back? Hmmm?"
"I..."
"Shot, John! My daughter
was shot!" my mother yelled.
"Only a little bit," I murmured, holding my thumb and forefinger millimeters apart. "And I don't want..."
"Be quiet, young lady. You were shot!"
"I know. I felt it. You don't have to keep saying it."
"Your job is dangerous! This never happened when you worked as a temp."
"Lexi can come back to work with me anytime," said Solomon.
Mom turned to me, her face determined and proud, like she magically fixed everything. "There! See? You have your job back."
"I have a job, Mom, and I'm working it." After today, I was pretty impressed with myself too. I had hard evidence to show Detective Donahue and a solid plan in play. It was only a matter of time until we had the real perpetrator in cuffs.
"No job is worth getting shot at," murmured my dad.
"No job is worth getting shot at," said my mother over the top of him.
"Unless someone else's life is at stake." I crossed my arms in an act of defiance. My mother glared at me; and I glared back. I probably wouldn't have won, given how badly my gunshot wound ached as the torn skin knitted itself back together. Besides, I really needed a drink, but I was also fully committed to giving the glaring contest my all.
"Your life would be safer if you worked with your boyfriend," Mom pointed out.
"How?" I wondered aloud, thinking back to all the cases Solomon and I worked. There were some distinctively unsafe cases.
"You would have backup."
That was a hard point to argue with. Mom was right. Working alone, I didn't have backup to readily call upon, but I did have backup that night. "I had backup," I told her. "Maddox."
"Where were you?" Mom asked, narrowing her eyes at Solomon. "She had to call her ex for backup. Do you ever seriously want to get married?"
The tablet in my father's hand chirped, and my dad grinned. "Look who's on the screen!" he said, turning the tablet around. My nephew and niece, Sam and Chloe, waved at me. Sam was speckled with chicken pox.
"Can I see your gunshot wound?" asked Sam.
"Can we see through it?" asked Chloe.
"Yeah!" yelled Sam. "Can I put a straw right through you?"
Garrett's face loomed onto the screen. "You have the right to remain silent," he said. "Please exercise that option." He slid out of view, leaving two disappointed looking children staring expectantly at me.
"No, you can't put a straw through me," I told them, and their faces fell a little more. It was hard to disappoint them. No, wait, it was pretty easy.
"I told you that was a dumb question," said Chloe to Sam.
"Can we see the bullet?" asked Sam.
"No, sorry. It's in evidence."
"Dad says if you get shot anymore, you can make a necklace out of all the bullets."
"I! Did! Not!" yelled an off camera Garrett.
Sam pushed his face against the screen. "He did," he whispered loudly, his tongue darting out to lick the screen.
"He did. He definitely did," added Chloe, pushing her brother out of the way. "He said, you'll be so holey, you'll never need to go to church again."
"We have to go," I told the kids. "I wish you were here. This has been so much fun!"
"Dad says we can video call your phone. He gave us your number," said Sam.
I sucked in a deep breath. "Tell him I said thanks." I waved.
"We will. Bye, Aunty Holey Lexi!"
"Bye!" I waved until the screen went dark.
"Something smells nice," said Mom. "Did you do this, Solomon?"
"We teamed up," said Solomon.
"So you can team up to make dinner, but you can't work together, live together, get married, or have a baby?" asked Mom. "The only thing you can commit to is food?"
"That's right," I said, nodding. I wondered if I were only agreeing with her, or simply deflecting the other things that could be in my future. Once again, I thought of Solomon's suggestion that we live together.
I liked having him on my team; I just wasn't sure about working for him again. If we were also living together, where would my independence be? Plus, last time I made a full commitment to someone, falling head over heels in love with Maddox, I spotted him with another woman and saw red, ending us. Even now, long past that event, I believed Maddox when he said it was a huge misunderstanding, but the pain of that moment still stung. The big commitment before that was when I got engaged and it turned out horribly, terribly wrong. My brief stint in the Army was testimony to that. I wondered if third time lucky lay in my future.
All of a sudden, it was clear. Solomon wasn’t my stumbling block. Or the loss of independence. Or gaining independence while living with someone who was truly on my team. It was none of those things, but rather, the fear that something I deeply wanted might end. I made mistakes before, was easily duped before, and I knew it could easily happen again. As I looked up at Solomon, waiting for his question again, waiting for him to make me that offer again, I knew I didn't want to lose him too. Living together could work. We wouldn't even have to make it work, we could just do it, and eventually, the fear should recede. Now was the time I realized, as I turned to look up at him. Now I knew what I would say.
"Lexi can have her job back anytime," said Solomon, answering the question I didn't expect to hear, "Lexi? Do you want your job back?"
Chapter Nineteen
"I love a fake wedding," said Lily. We sat in my car, watching a steady stream of people flowing in and out of Juliet and Rob's house. I was impressed. It did not look like a fake wedding at all. It looked like the real deal; and I had to admit, it was fabulous. "I hope there's cake," Lily continued, completely nonplussed about the real reason for the fake wedding. "Maybe you'll catch the bouquet."
"Been there, done that. Still not married."
"You did have a brief engagement," pointed out Lily.
I swallowed. "Maybe it'll be really good cake," I said, trying to sound more optimistic.
"A really yummy, really big cake." Lily pointed to a large box being lifted out of a van by two people dressed in white chef coats. "They are the best cake makers in all Montgomery. I couldn't even get them for my wedding! How did Juliet manage that?"
"I have no idea," I replied, wondering what kind of check Juliet was prepared to write in order to have a chance at catching her stalker. Since I once ate an exorbitantly priced, but utterly amazing, cupcake from that very bakery, I guessed it had to be a pretty big one.
"I hope they save us a slice. Is that the caterers? I'm hungry."
"You're always hungry."
"It's the baby. The baby is always hungry."
"You are eating for two."
"It feels like two thousand. I can't stop. I'm not just going to give birth. Eventually, I'll explode and… ta-da! There will be a baby."
"Call me when it's about to happen."
"I'd love for you to be there!"
"No, I meant so I could get out of the county. If you're going to explode, I don't want to see it."
"I bet I'll taste of buttercream." Lily sighed. "What a way to go."
I checked my watch. "We have two hours until the wedding. I don't think anything will happen until then."
"Does that give us enough time for lunch?"
"We just ate lunch!"
"Oh." Lily's shoulders dropped in disappointment. "I forgot. How about a snack?"
"I could do with a coffee."
"Me too, except no caffeine. I could drink a green tea. Do you think we could get a slice of that cake to eat with it?"
"No."
"It's not even a real wedding! They will never notice two missing slices. Or even four." Lily paused as the catering truck opened up and uniformed staff began to unload dozens of dishes. Her belly rumbled. "This is really unfair! Lexi, how could you do this to a pregnant woman?"
"I thought we were getting the easiest job. All we have to do is sit here in the car and watch over the house, just in case anyone tries to sneak in with the food deliveries."
"Like
we'd even know if someone did. They're all strangers," Lily pointed out.
"We're not looking for a stranger. We're looking for someone we know. Someone acting suspicious."
"The only suspicious people I see right now are us. That's a nice blouse you're wearing. Can I borrow it when I'm not the size of a tanker?"
"Sure. I'll go get you a green tea," I told Lily. "You stay here and watch over everyone."
"And some cake," Lily called weakly as I stepped out of the car. I pressed my back against the car door as a florist van squealed past before screeching to a halt at the curb. Two people jumped out of the cab and raced around to the side, pulling back a sliding door. The heady scent of lilies and roses bombarded my senses as I crossed the road, walked past the truck, and made my way towards the house.
Juliet's house had morphed from a quiet prison to a busy command center. The door stood wide open and I stepped through, looking around in amazement and awe. The house was quite a vision, a miracle of transformation. A beautiful ivy garland dotted with cascading flowers was draped around the banister, and tall floral arrangements stood at the base of the stairs. The dining room furniture was missing; and in its place, stood a bar and rows of gleaming glassware. A bartender clad in black and white, with his back to me, was unpacking cases of wine and beer. I turned away, looking for my client. I didn't have to wait long as Juliet hurried down the steps, wearing a silk wrap dress. Smiling when she saw me, "What do you think?" she asked, waving a hand around.
"It looks great. Very authentic."
"I think Rob is blown away. He said we should have planned our wedding like this all along. He says it's very us."
I nodded my agreement. Quiet, understated and elegant; the fake wedding was just what I imagined for the couple. "I like all the decorations."
"You should see the back yard. It's like something out of a fairytale. Come see," Juliet said, grabbing my hand and drawing me to the back of the house. What I saw stopped me dead. Fairytale was a good description. Far from the dark, shadowy scene of a recent shooting, this yard was festooned with ribbons and fairy lights, along with colorful sets of decorated chairs that flanked a petal-strewn aisle. Somewhere, wind chimes tinkled in the breeze. Thankfully, someone successfully scrubbed all of my blood droplets from the deck.
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